- HY didst thou promise such a beauteous day
- And make me travel forth without my cloak,
- To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
- Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke?
- 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break
- To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
- For no man well of such a salve can speak
- That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
- Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
- Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
- Th' offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
- To him that bears the strong offense's cross.
- Ah, but those tears are pearl which thy love sheeds,
- And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.
by: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)